|
Post by rii on Aug 5, 2012 10:31:28 GMT -5
Cathias absently watched the movement of hand through disheveled hair. A contrast to his own short cut. It was almost surreal to find the quirks paralleling in personality; to visually see how much in appearance they did not mesh. Er'ani's carefree spirit — noticeable in the strange plumage the rider sported, in the young rider's lackadaisical movements, his thick, untrained tongue – reminded Cathias of the story of High Reaches. He'd been taught about it in his lessons; about the dragonriders that thought they could just run off and live a hedonistic lifestyle. They left the responsibilities to everyone else while they reaped the rewards. When judgment came upon them, they were too weak to put up a fight. That is what happened to riders who didn't discipline themselves, who didn't work and work hard. They became weak – and weakness to the weyr. All of this Cathias reflected on in the brief moment Er'ani's hair. It was so unruly. He wondered if Er'ani was somehow a descendent of the deceased riders of High Reaches.
"They're still south," Cathias absently found himself responding to what Er'ani neither asked, but perhaps hinted toward. The rider made his own arrows. It intrigued Cathias, merely because he liked to see how all things were done at least once so he could retain the knowledge. He, of course, wouldn't inquire directly about the hobby. His interest might be mistaken for the earnest nature of a child. "The larger birds," He explained further. "The white ones with black tips I hear are the best for fletching. They are still south from the winter, but should be returning to the lakes around here to nest."
At the question of hunting, Cathias turned his gaze aside. No, he didn't hunt. Why would he need to hunt when his means were provided by the weyr. Taking down an animals for sport felt wrong - like a waste. Cathias kept his opinions to himself, again touching at the scarring on his lips before he shook his head at Er'ani in a final response. Not that his answer mattered, Er'ani had asked it and then went on to talk about himself - not waiting for a reply from Cathias. The candidate's lips tugged downward at the rider's choice in wording. Perhaps it was an over-active mind at work once again, but Cathias couldn't help but hear the duality in phrase 'living targets'. No doubt this Er'ani had sighted some of those arrows at people Cathias had once admired. May have even put an end to some of them.
Cathias couldn't help but wonder (and not for the first time) who was/were the rider(s) responsible for his parent's death.
The darkness lingered in at the corner of Cathias's hazel eyes. He extended his hand to Er'ani, a fluid motion that didn't betray the uncomfortable stiffness on the inside. His nerves feel like metal rods, and every move takes twice the amount of effort. Regardless, he holds his hand out to the rider in a silent offer. It would require Er'ani coming closer, and because of that, Cathias would show his own trust toward the rider he didn't particularly feel fond about. A truce, or an agreement to be civil; Cathias didn't bother to define the action in his own head.
"Cathias. I'm a candidate." He debated on mentioning that he was Fortian, but decided to let the matter go unsaid. The whole mixing up the weyrs felt like an effort to erase everyone's origins. It likely worked for some. Cathias was just stubborn. "At least I think I am?" His lips quirked, just smallest curves at the corner of his lips to suggest he was making a joke. "I was banned from standing the last few clutches, but I think the next time around I am allowed on the sands."
He didn't sound all that excited about it. Cathias gaze trailed over to where Lketh had gone. It did cross his musing from time to time, wondering what it felt like to be eternally bonded to another. "How long have you been a rider?"
|
|
|
Post by rii on Aug 1, 2012 11:25:09 GMT -5
The instant the flood of words came pouring out of Er'ani's mouth, Cathias wanted to tune them out. His hazel eyes turned up to the sky to concentrate of the clarity of the blue color, even the small mounds of white clouds couldn't mar the vast, open space. He knew better than to speak poorly toward those deemed his superiors. It just became so hard to smile and fake it when a good handful of the riders he interacted with had a clear lack of self-discipline. They were not men he could look up to and respect. How could he ever grown to trust such morons at his side in a flight. The war was over, Cathias knew, but that had been his environment. His childhood. The bond between the riders on a wings had seemed so strong – to be able to trust another person with your very life. Camaraderie. Brotherhood.
When Cathias looked at Er'ani, he saw none of those things.
The candidate rubbed thoughtfully at the white scarring on the corner of his lips. It always felt strange. The scar was minimal, but at times if felt as if he was missing an entire chunk of his mouth. The skin didn't stretch right whenever he smiled or frowned. It was enough to make him subconscious about it. He had earned it from speaking his less than polite thoughts to an older candidate. The mark remained with him as a silent reminder that some things were better left unspoken. There were dozen things he wanted to reply with to the rider's foolish words - mostly things of a condescending nature. Such as who in their right mind made an obvious nuisance of themselves to the point of making people want to gut said annoyance. And what kind of man needed to rely on a dragon to make the right choices.
Cathias considered the whittled branch in his hand, tempted to flat out ignore the bluerider in hopes that ignoring him would make him leave. A matter Cathias must have debated for some time because the white dragon was wandering off. A curious creature. An oddity. Cathias wouldn't inquire about the beast. One of the last things he wanted to do was make the rider's apparent ego swell with pride, or appear that he was envious the man was bonded to a dragon at all. Most candidates often seemed so wistful.
Drat, the rider was not leaving with the dragon. Goodbye white conscious. Fingers curled around the branch, lifting it up as if it was some great source of awe. The rider behind him was really grasping for straws if he attempting to insult with those words.
Are you going to stand there like a dung pile, or are you going to say something actually worth listening to?
Patience, Cathias reminded himself.
It depends, are you going to duck with I throw it at your face?
It was a struggle to think of something neutral to say to the biggot. Cathias wasn't in the mood to fake a conversation. The branch went flying, not toward rider or dragon, but toward a tree trunk. The collision made a hollow clunk. Cathias stared at the branch now nestled in the mound of soggy leaves. He stood a second later, wiping his blade across his thigh before he turned to eye Er'ani. The other male was a tall fellow.
You're an idiot.
Does being a dragon rider mean nothing to you? You act like a child and the dragon is toy.
He still couldn't find anything to say to the rider. His jaw tensed as he silently ground his teeth, the next words were almost too difficult to speak. Yet Cathias managed it all in a pleasantly neutral tone, "Were you hunting?"
|
|
|
Post by rii on Jul 29, 2012 10:53:10 GMT -5
Oh.
Hazel eyes swept along the mound of white bearing a set of red eyes. He wasn't sure how he over-looked that considering dragonskin didn't look anything like snow, and at this point in the season the drifts didn't get that high. At any rate, Cathias would blame it on being mentally occupied with his own thoughts and that white dragons were not something he would deem as a threat. The croon certainly sounded friendly enough and Cathias took it as sign the albino wasn't bothered by the unexpected company. Cathias didn't mind either, for one the dragon wasn't talking to him. Company that was silent was much preferred to loud and obnoxious.As if on cue, in swung wild man to disrupt the peace. Cathias couldn't help but blankly stare at the other two.
It wasn't a sense of awe that kept his attention attached to the rider. The days of being a boy and feeling envious of the bond between rider and dragon were long over. What captivated Cathias was the sheer lack of maturity. Dragonriders were suppose to men (and to a lesser extent women) that could be respected when looked upon. All Cathias saw was a fool. Oh, but he knew the rules. His gaze briefly settled on the rider's knots, lightly scoffing at the classification of blue rider. It was amazing, in a cynical sort of way which really meant down right absurd, that Cathias had to respect these men that acted like undisciplined weyrbrats.
Cathias brow arched as the man spoke. Jadedly he scratched at the side of his head with the dull edge of his knife. He wondered briefly if he looked like he was five, because the guy was certainly talking down to him as if he was the child in the situation. "Dragon wasn't bothering me."
Couldn't say as much for the rider.
Turning back to the stick in his hand, Cathias carved off another strip of bark to reveal the pale wood beneath. In his own little world again, although he had not forgotten the odd pair behind him. He gazed down at the wood curls circling his feet, loathed to get up and walk away from the spot he'd chosen as a work bench. This little grove of budding trees and chorusing birds was suppose to be his little sanctuary for the small bit of time he had to himself. It was meaningful, in it's own way, that he had to walk all the way there to find it. Then to have it ruined by some childish rider..
"Hypothetically," Cathias mused, glancing up at the sky but not back at the rider. "Are you one of those people that would bother someone further if they strongly hinted that your company was not desirable?"
|
|
|
Post by rii on Jul 24, 2012 22:12:45 GMT -5
Snows were almost melted. There were patches here and there, shaded under the branches of trees just starting to bud with the arrival of spring. The days were still a cry off from pleasant; the wind still held the bite of winter, and likely would until Summer set in. On a personal scale, Cathias didn't care much for Spring. The ground was always wet, so even a simple walk require thick boots, pants, and it would be a few months yet before Cathias could ditch the worn jacket. Gloves might have been a good idea, but they made his fingers clumsy. So he kept his hands stuffed into the warm confines of his pockets as he trudged along the path leading out of the hollowed volcano and out into one of the forested vales surrounding the weyr.
It was strange to call this weyr home, but after four years Cathias knew the trails almost as well as the ones back at Fort. Cathias made a small noise in the back of his throat reminiscent of a growl, lifting a hand scratch the bridge of his nose as he expelled the weighed thoughts from taking hold of his mind. It wasn't the first time the pain of nostalgia tried to darken his mood. Not today. Cathias glanced up at the clear blue sky, repeating to himself that he would not dwell on the past. It was nice out (relatively speaking) and he finally had a break from chores. He'd decided he was going to spend it doing something he liked, and not hanging around a bunch of people that tended to get on his nerves more often than not. Or maybe it was just this week; it'd been a rough one. His neck hurt, his shoulders hurt, his damn everything hurt.
He was turning into a crotchety old man at the age of sixteen. Fantastic.
Cathias picked his way along the trees, kicking his foot at the fall branches until he found one to his liking. Dry enough to whittle, and whittle he would. It didn't take long for Cathias to find a suitable clearing in the woods. A lichen covered boulder served as a perch, one Cathias mounted with crossed legs. Sunlight caught the flash of metal as Cathias made the draw and set to work peeling away thin, curling layers of wood. With each draw of the knife Cathias felt his mind clear. The only sound around him that of the metal sliding through the wood and excited trill of birds returning from their southern get-aways.
It was peaceful, until..
Crunch.
Cathias's hands paused mid-stroke, and the dark-haired candidate lifted his head only slightly. What moved up were his eyes, looking unamused as they scanned the thin trunks ahead of him. No one there, which mean someone (or maybe a thing) was behind him. Cathias twirled his blade before shifting to glance over his shoulder. Hello?
|
|
|
Post by rii on Jul 17, 2012 18:26:28 GMT -5
Name: Cathias Age: 16 Gender: Male Sexual Orientation: Eh Rank: Candidate Physical Appearance: He's not quite tall, nor is he quite handsome. Cathias falls into the average category. Five foot five, a head of dark hair that is kept to a traditional shortness. His fair colored skin shows his northern heritage, and the faint, dark scruff that is beginning to show along his jaw and upper lip show that he's no longer a boy. Yet, it also reveals that he'll probably only grow another inch or two before his body is done maturing. His eyes are a shade green, with red inner rings and a blue outer one in a variation that can only be classified as hazel. There are a few scars that dot his body, mostly from the usual childhood mishaps, but there is one mark that stands above all the others - likely his most noticeable feature. There is a small gash (turns have turned the flesh into a white scar) that cuts vertically over the right side of his lips. It's not huge, but in such a place that it can't be over-looked.
Personality: Loner is likely the first impression Cathias gives off. It's not that his anti-social (in fact he can be very genial) it's just that Cathias is.. quiet. He'll rarely initiate a conversation, and if he's force to say something, expect it to come out as an uncomfortable mumble. His comments are short, and well.. dry. Cathias does have a sense of humor, often times shown through with small, amused smirks. He's a clever youth, and the type to enjoy a prank at another's expense - he's just not very vocal about it. Talking to girls is awkward - in his opinion they always want to talk about the strangest things that simply have no relevance to.. well.. anything. It's like dealing with an entirely different species. Cathias tries, but he just never gets very far. Although that maybe be on purpose. Cathias, raised in Fort, hold certain.. views. At any rate, it's no surprise that he is often found alone. Always busy with something, never lazing about without a care in the world. He's reliable, fairly loyal, there just is something bitter in Cathias that makes him unable to form any sort of lasting connection with other people. He keeps them at a distance. He's fine with having friends to pal around with, but little more.
History: Cathias is the only son of dragonriders Cathrine and Mathias, both of which were Fort riders and no longer living. As a boy, Cathias never really noticed the war. It had been going on long before he was born. The adults talked about it, and every now and then Cathias did notice a face he had once known was forever gone. Yet that was the life he knew, it was normal, and to a child it was perfect. He had his fun and the turns continued. It wasn't until the war literally came to his doorstep that it finally took it's toll. Cathias had been a child given to the creche, even fostered out to a hold (to learn a craft he never got the hang of), but he had always known his parents. So when the fight raged on in the skies above Fort, Cathias had run to watch. It was a mixture of awe, and horror, that filled him as he took in all the different cries of anger, pain, even the sound of flame being released from the mouths of a dragons.
It might have been an inspiring sight - a young, twelve year old boy hoping to impress on the sands to one day be a fighter in the skies - if not.. for watching his mother's dragon fall. Her green screamed - Cathias can still remember the sound - all the way to the ground as she floundered with shredded wings. Cathais didn't remember running, but he had, straight for where he had seen the dragon fall. He was winded by the time he arrived. The green no where insight, having gone between, but his mother's body was still there. Broken, bloody.. Cathias had never realized the horrors of the war until that blood was on his hands. He can vaguely remember shaking her shoulders, wanting so much to see her wake up, but her body remained limp, her chest void of any breathe. The last thing Cathias did was remove the necklace she wore, one he had gotten (read: stolen) from a gather to gift to her.
His father didn't return home either.
The change wasn't easy. Cathias found himself among strangers, and friends he'd once had were sent to another weyr. While he was compliant with orders, Cathias was far from being accepting. Change doesn't happen over night. Cathias was raised in prejudice – to him Southerners were nothing but morons, and the Bendenites rabid dogs. To the say the least, Cathias didn't mesh well his first couple of years. He got into a scuffle with some of the other candidates, one that resulting in his more noticeable scar.. and his ban from standing the stands that year and the next. Extra chores and all sorts of wonderful things.
At least he learned to keep some comments.. most comments.. to himself.
He's allowed to stand this year, but honestly.. Cathias isn't sure he wants to be a dragon rider anymore.
Candidates Only Name Contraction (Males Only): C'as Desired Dragon Color: Blue Dragon, Wher, or both?: Dragon [x ] By checking this box, I am saying that I have read the Rules and History, and will follow them.
|
|
|
Post by rii on Jun 15, 2011 13:43:54 GMT -5
"I know."
F'lix words were wedged in after F'ur's first ones. A snapping comment, even if it did bring a well of sadness to his golden eyes. He'd lost F'ur during that turn apart, and in that space F'ur had replaced him. K'sel was the new friendship and.. F'lix eyes suddenly narrowed, accusation burning brightly. Had A'emi filled in the spot of lover? A man had needs, right? F'lix faintly hissed as he drew in a breath through his teeth. He hadn't touched anyway during the last turn - but that was crazy ol' him. Too obsessively attached. F'lix's hands began to wring the neck of his waterskin.
"I've been telling you - why don't you listen?"
He shrank further away from F'ur, boots splashing through the spring to put the water between them. His heart was doing a frantic dance inside his chest, adding to the inability to keep his thoughts for racing. Part of him wanted to turn and quickly dash into.. well there was much tree cover here, but maybe just hide somewhere in the rock cropings. He was determined, this time, to not let himself be mollified by F'ur's presence and make the damn man see the truth of the situation.
"This relationship isn't healthy. I'm.. unfair. I don't want to share you and it's.. psychotic. You keep having to fix me, and I keep breaking, it's just.. a vicious cycle. I want you to see this for what it is and get yourself out of the loop. But you're stubborn, and stuck with the idea of me that I'm just.. not. It kills me to make such a mess out of us. I don't want to do it anymore."
F'lix didn't think being alone would fix himself any, but at least he wouldn't find himself looking at F'ur and feel the insane urge to just launch into some rant about Faranath only knows what. Complete with angry gestures and just utter failing on his part because of his inability to explain feelings. How do you put a feeling into words? F'lix was no artist to do such a thing. Even the lines that traced him neck to foot were elusive in meaning.
|
|
|
Post by rii on Jun 13, 2011 14:43:59 GMT -5
No, no.
F'lix threaded his fingers into ink black strands, fisting his hair so he could feel the pain. He grit his teeth to the sensation, concentrating on these instead of the arms encircling his waist. Damnit. He came with a better resolve, to not be so easily soothed into sweet words and touches. He wanted to believe them, again, but no. Teeth slowly sank into his lower lip, blood welling up and filling his mouth with the tangy flavor.
The nip drew action from the younger rider. F'lix twisted around, grabbing a handful of F'ur's shirt collar. The gleam to his eyes not that far from what would be considered the crazed look of a mad man. "Why do you do this to yourself - you're mad." It hadn't slipped his memory of what F'ur use to be called in the north. "And so fucking stubborn. Why can't you let me go? You should." Stupid man. F'lix fingers curled more tightly into the fabric. The words descending into whispers once again, "Why do you let me do this to you - how long before you to do this again. It shouldn't be like this."
Clamping his jaw shut to stop the rambling, F'lix shoved as much as he pulled away to put distance between them. He wanted to work it out, to agree to F'ur's words that they did need more time for just the two of them. Time when F'ur wasn't trying to twist his words around to make him feel stupid. F'lix had a hard enough time communicating with people. The turn alone had only brought it all back and he was finding it.. difficult to talk to F'ur. He lifted a hand to his ear, the one F'ur had nibbled, accusation being shot toward F'ur with a narrowed look. He would not be distracted that easily.
|
|
|
Post by rii on Jun 12, 2011 20:33:57 GMT -5
The waterskin dropped, rolling a few feet down the slight incline the trail cut across. F'lix had tense, naturally, but didn't do the more reflexive reaction of defending himself. His face turned, shoulders hunching in expectation of being hit. Instead it was the words that struck, snapping golden eyes up to F'ur's face - the glisten no longer able to be hidden. His teeth gnashed behind closed lips.
"Why can't you just walk away?" Low and an angry hiss as he kept his gaze firm on Fur's face. "I'm sick of needing to be fix. I'm sick of you having to do it." His arms flex against F'ur's grip. Speaking always made it harder to keep the emotions from bubbling up. A quavering voice at first, a tremble of lip later. "I'm sick of being so fucking insecure about ever damn thing around me. Sick of the endless loop I repeat with you, aren't you tired - don't you see it yet? Your stuck, F'ur, with an idea of what we had. Just look at what I do to you."
Tear-tracks now, though he kept the glare going strong. "I hate that I'm not your friend anymore. I'm jealous. Fucking jealous. This is ridiculous," He finally brought his arms up, breaking F'ur's grasp and moving a step backwards. "I'm broken, I'm fucking insane. I am, but admitting it does make go the fuck away like I want it to." His voice continued to stay low, because even then, he didn't want his drama to be overheard. He snatched up the water skin, turning away to wipe his face clean with a palm. Seething that he could make it stop.
No, he couldn't say the words that F'ur wanted to hear. "How about you tell me you're sick of this, that you don't want it anymore. Love isn't going to fix it, just.. prolong.. whatever this has turned into." His voice was weakening, the flare of temper fading. "Why can't you just leave me behind. Please. I'm trying to let you go in the only way I know how.."
|
|
|
Post by rii on Jun 12, 2011 19:37:17 GMT -5
"That was actually a rhetorical question."
F'lix rose, lifting up the bottom portion of his shirt to dry his face, running his fingers of the fabric - smoothing it back down and wiping off his hand in the same motion. He wanted to bathe, to soak in a hot springs. His memory flashed to the ones found in the hidden vale near Fort. Irritation quickly soared, his pulse upping a beat, at the briefest thoughts of the time spent there, alone, after Simper had died. His mind was so quick to still bring up the past. He wanted to live in the present; but that hadn't happened.
He picked up the flask, only then turning to settled what he hoped to be an impassive look on F'ur. Narrowed, naturally, since his scarred portion couldn't open much further. An old habit, that, making sure his eyes were even. No longer comfortable in the presence of the man he loved - still loved. Yet here he was, maintaining a metaphorical and physical distance between them. Why was he doing this? Did he want to make F'ur mad?
Yes. No.
His facial features softened, for a moment of inner thought, but it quickly hardened back up. It was hard to let the man go, but.. he couldn't make him happy. F'ur went to K'sel to have fun and be happy and F'lix.. just look at the older man. He was just.. too loyal, and too stuck to an idea of what they had. F'lix wasn't getting better. He wasn't. It wasn't fair to keep F'ur in this relationship. There was more misery involved than love; F'lix being such a fucking chore with his fucking insecurities. Couldn't even tolerate watching the man have a friendship with someone else without feeling inadequate.
F'lix was so.. nothing. Not worth the effort. F'ur just need to see it and if shoving a wedge between them did the job, then so be it. It killed him on the inside, but.. he didn't want to drag the man down with him. His lashes lowered again, an almost demure action if not for the rigid body language. Done to hide the glistening threatening to well up on him. "Go on," A slight motion of his head. "K'sel is waiting."
|
|
|
Post by rii on Jun 12, 2011 17:11:58 GMT -5
He was hoping F'ur wouldn't follow..
Playing deaf to the footsteps coming up the path, F'lix uncorked the waterskin and held it into the running spring. He was crouched much like F'ur, one arm dangling over his knee as he fought to remain lax in posture. Tension showed in his shoulders regardless of his efforts. They came up ever-so-slightly, defensive and in a poor move to block out F'ur's voice. Shield him from whatever the older bluerider had to say. F'lix anticipated something more sharply phrased, but no doubt this quiet approach would be short lived.
Slowly his head turned, scarred portion of his face looking back at F'ur. Golden eyes slitted so lashes masked the presence of emotions flashing in the dark hues. "I'll leave Lilitu next time."
It did cross his mind to simply lie, but it wasn't something F'lix found easy. Lied to himself, time and time again, but couldn't bring himself to attempt it on others. Silence and avoidance were his fall-backs. F'lix faced forward, adjusting the skin to gain more water before capping the container. Setting it aside, F'lix idly washed his hands, splashing his face and trying so hard not to spin around and snap at the hovering man.
What is what all about, Fur?
F'lix flicked the water from his fingers, debating whether or not to attempt - not for the first time - to explain himself. He always lacked the words, and the courage, to fully admit those sort of things. His mind retreated away from those emotional thoughts, nestling more comfortably in scorn and thinly veiled sarcasm. It was safe there. "Are you actually here to talk, or are you just waiting for me to try and open up again so you can jab my thoughts and feelings full of holes again? Because, if that's the case, I have no more interest in talking to you than I did yesterday."
|
|
|
Post by rii on Jun 12, 2011 16:01:09 GMT -5
Almost two days.
F'lix slipped the rope off from over his shoulder, setting down the pair of wherrysport next to the camp's firepit. It hadn't take him that long to hunt down those two, no. His absence, starting yesterday morning and spanning to the present evening, it was — F'lix wasn't even sure why, specifically, he left in the first place after having a minor tiff with F'ur; not weyrmate, not lover, not friend – just F'ur. He returned, and yet his internal issues remained unresolved.
A myriad of dark thoughts plagued him. They started as mere whispers in the back of his mind upon reuniting with K'sel and A'emi. Each passing day found F'lix growing more distant. He'd always been a silent sort around others and these others were around constantly. A'emi eventually parted ways, but K'sel remained. Nothing wrong with that - where was K'sel suppose to go? F'lix knew this. He did. Yet he couldn't help but resent the brownrider. Couldn't stop the bitter taste of jealousy from forming whenever he saw the other two men conversing and joking around.
So he left, often and alone, to go hunt or look for the exile weyr. Each return weighing on him more than the last. A true character flaw in F'lix, the inability to put words to the feelings corrupting his mind. He would rather stew unhappily, slip away and brood over what made him feel that way than speak his woes. Because, they were silly thoughts, weren't they? In the end, F'lix determined that he'd been replaced - as friend. He was just a lover; someone to sate the mood. F'ur was allowed to have friends, of course, just.. F'ur was F'lix's only friend and one he didn't have anymore. F'lix was willing to admit it was unfair on his behalf; but it didn't erase the feelings from existing.
F'lix picked up the two small wherrysports (already cleaned out) and hung them from a nearby tree, feeling no desire to cook them. He didn't have an appetite; hadn't for a couple weeks now. He didn't glance at the other two men at the camp. Didn't want to talk. End of story. He brought them food, and if he found any sign of the exiles he would let them know. F'lix moved over to where his pack laid, separate from F'ur. He slept apart because he.. felt too weird being in the same camp - nestled to F'ur while K'sel (and once upon a time A'emi) laid not far off. F'lix wasn't openly affectionate for all the world to see - and there were always eyes watching these days. A turn was a long time, and ideas of getting better had faded once again. It just.. wasn't happening. He closed off too much, and wasn't willing to be soft again for the whole group to see. Fur might see F'lix attitude differently, but how would K'sel (or A'emi) know any different. F'lix was cold then, and cold now.
Retrieving an empty water skin, F'lix slipped back out of camp without a word, heading toward the mountain spring found a short walk away.
|
|
|
Post by rii on Jun 9, 2011 21:08:02 GMT -5
Little moon, you sstare at me sso, doess my vibrant color dazzle you? Ekarth's eyes, the same shade as his hide and giving away nothing, narrowed playfully as his tongue again flicked through the air.
Ba'sun chuckled, unable to help himself. The sound light on the air, deceiving so. Someone aspiring to be like him. There was just so much self deprecating musing tied to that single phrase that it passed the point of being sad to hysterical. "Alright, let's see what I can show you.."
Abandoning his original plan of gathering up branches for arrows, Ba'sun instead picked up a first piece of wood that was about the size of a human head. He grabbed branches along the way and lead them out to a small clearly. He found a fallen stump not to far off. The large, rotting chuck was set up on the nearest rock. The smaller 'head' placed on top of the torso. With a few digging stabs with his belt knife, Ba'sun added arms to the bigger log to let there be no mistake that his mutate creation was meant to represent a person.
He dug out two narrow hollows, revealing the paler wood underneath the bark, to represent eyes. Another chunk was taken out of the torso log in the spot where the heart hid. A short whistle from him drew Aello's attention from E'rani and Shoal to himself. Mental images were shown to her - his bow - and she quickly disappeared between. The green wasn't the biggest fire lizard, but his bow wasn't that big either. He had different sizes for different tasks. The smallest would do the work for today.
She returned a moment later, Ba'sun taking it from her and wandering back to where Er'ani and Shoal stood. He poked Shoal on the nose before reaching behind Er'ani to pull out three arrows. He didn't need any extras. Two were placed between his fingers holding the wood of the bow, the other put to the string. "I can't remember the last time I shot at targets." Unmoving targets didn't provide him with any furthering of his training. Ba'sun turned his back to the target, already having taken a mental picture of it. Short inhale, long exhale.
The archer swiveled, actions almost a blur as he brought the bow up and fired simultaneously. It struck the top log in the right eye. The head rocked, swiveling around on the torso and when it first came back around Ba'sun buried the second arrow in the left eye. It fell clean off the torso, the third arrow soon embedding itself in the 'heart' of the target. It only took a couple seconds to complete - and with a quick reach to yank another arrow from Er'ani's quiver, Ba'sun buried another arrow just below the other in the wood's heart. The log wobbled and rolled off the rock.
Hm. He was disappointed, he didn't the arrow down the middle as he'd wanted. Ba'sun walked over to his target, kneeling over it to see he'd sheared a feather guide off the other arrow with how close he'd come. Ba'sun slung the bow diagonal across his chest and began to pull the arrows out of the wood. Face stoic as he walked back toward Er'ani. "I don't find target shooting very impressive, but will that work for you?"
A brow arched. If Er'ani wanted something more, he'd have to wait for a fight to come find them. "It doesn't demonstrate the moment of split second decision, or the reaction time to more.. active targets."
|
|
|
Post by rii on Jun 9, 2011 20:22:02 GMT -5
Jenna set her forehead against the side of Ae'on's neck. Her skin already starting to take on a feverish heat, but she couldn't help but think he was the warmer one. Cold and shaky was how she felt by the time they reached the infirmary. Her weigh growing more and more of a burden - not that she was getting heavier, but that she no longer had the strength to help ease it. Dead weight, they called it.
As she was laid out on the bed, Jenna quickly turned away to curl in on herself, shivering. Versaith crooned from where she'd landed on the infirmary ledge with Sfelyth. Her eyes once again whirling rapidly in worried shades of orange and yellow. If her brother hadn't been there, no doubt the green would have been reduced to a fit of keening.
"I went to healer hall for a bit.." Jenna mumbled to her company, in no real state to be consciously aware of what she was saying. "Never got to learning about poisons before I left. At Light tower we don't get the jungle variety of tunnel snakes. There are bigger ones that like the cliffs and oceans, but they're not poisonous." Holding her hand, Jenna eyed the wound with something akin to fascination. "How long did you study to be a healer Ae'on, you don't look that old at all.. cute when you get all grumpy faced, but not old.
"Of course, all you do is just sit in here. If you didn't have to take the lessons with the rest of us you'd probably never left. What's so great about being a healer that you like it so much?"
|
|
|
Post by rii on Jun 9, 2011 20:01:05 GMT -5
Lowering into his own chair, Ja'kin lightly swirled the contents of his glass around with a slight twirling of his wrist. His own plate of food went ignored, he'd pick at it later when he had an appetite and not earn questions from whatever drudge came to take the plates back to the kitchen. A brow arched at the mention of Z'ves and murder, "If it was indeed murder, the person responsible did it quietly enough not to draw a large amount of suspicion. Z'ves was something of a loose thread in the grand scheme of things - expendable, in short. It is actually better that he died, H'nes. His ilk were more damaging, than help, to our work here."
Cold were the words, but Ja'kin wasn't a man ruled by emotions. He had years of practice of making the hard decisions, of seeing things as logistics and numbers. Z'ves was what the Selenitas feared of the north, and was a man that was also unable to adapt. His type kept the hate very much alive between the natives and wastelanders. Something Ja'kin had hoped would have faded sooner. Amusingly enough, the whole point was to assimilate into one mold. The tone, however, that Ja'kin used give the information told H'nes something else. The outrage that H'nes might feel about losing one of his own was ill placed, and not a matter the other bronzer rider should pursue.
"The hatching is where things went poorly," And tied in with the reason Ja'kin had summoned H'nes. "Millieth's bloodline is weak, and with each clutch she produces more and more mutations that have no place in a weyr. Selenitas's soft heart weakens them. But, even I will admit, there was too much death on the sands." And he'd wanted more of the hatchlings to die. The white that couldn't stay out in the sun, and the one without claws. They had no place in the world and were a strain on the weyr's time and resources. "And the unrest is natural, H'nes. I'd hope to do more in the time we were given, but things have taken longer than expected. As it is, we need to do something to give the impression that change and.. progress.. has been made."
Ja'kin turned his head to carefully observe the older bronze rider, "I have a problem. Millieth was never meant to be the queen of this weyr when we came here." He'd wanted Jingth. "I wanted stronger bloodlines, and after this clutch.. while producing a gold.. is a poor turn of events. Demotaeth loathes mutations ever since what happened at Benden. I cannot reason with him - Demotaeth will not chase Millieth again. It leaves us with a problem of who is going to take my position once Millieth rises again. This is not something that can be left up to mere chance, not with the weyr in this divided state."
Ja'kin was a methodical man, not one that relied on luck.
|
|
|
Post by rii on Jun 8, 2011 9:31:12 GMT -5
Idiot.
There was just something wrong when people came to him to ask for help with how to go about being a traitor. Ba'sun grabbed the pack off his table, slinging it over his shoulder and following the motion with the leather quiver and bow. A folded blanket was tucked under an arm as he left the weyr - whistling to himself as he mounted Ekarth. The blue slid over the edge, winding along Selenitas river. He twirled out over the trees as they traced the path M'ta took to run. Ekarth double back to settle in the nearest clearing, springing back up into the air once Ba'sun had dismounted. The small blue then skimmed the jungle, a slight hiss escaping him as he sought out the dark green. How far away was she hiding?
It didn't take long for Ba'sun to join M'ta, an eyebrow lifting at the sight of Elysia already stripped and bound. Huh, imagine that, and here he thought the brownrider wouldn't be able to do it. He didn't know whether to be amused by it, or sad. Not saying a word, Ba'sun unraveled the blanket as he threw it over her motionless form. They'd already discussed what they would do with the harpy woman. The bluerider wrapped the blanket around her form, then propped her over one shoulder before standing back up. Elysia wasn't a heavy woman and Ba'sun wasn't sure why M'ta had asked for his help.
Or, rather, just didn't care.
His gaze swept over the ground - no signs of a struggle. M'ta must have been able to knock her out with one blow. A flicker of a glance went to the brownrider before Ba'sun turned and headed back the way he'd come under the cover of the trees. They could dress her once they got her to her 'cell', it wasn't smart to linger out in the open with the risk of her coming to. He waited just under the trees as Ekarth circle around, checking for any watchful eyes before dropping down. Elysia was thrown over the blue as little more than cargo - just a rolled up blanket and/or bedroll at a glance.
It was slightly amusing to note that Selenitas did not have a place to keep prisoners. At least no formal place, there were plenty of nooks and crannies out and about to serve the purpose for a temporarily amount of time. Nothing close, though, and since they'd have to keep a watch on Elysia it became something of a big problem. Lucky for them the recent earthquake had solved the dilemma. Back in the old second of the weyr further down the river. Selnitas use to be stationed in the trees (God, Ba'sun would have loved to see that insanity) before an attach on Fort had forced them to make home closer to the falls. It was there that some of the old weyrs had collapsed because of the earthquake. Ba'sun had found a nice one with it's dragon ledge gone and the only door in and out able to be barred. The hallway was damaged as well..
.. it was here that two people were needed to get Elysia through and over the piles of rubble and narrow openings. Dangerous grounds, maybe, but they didn't have other options available to them. Ekarth landed near the far opening, slinging Elysia once again over his shoulder and quickly disappearing behind his blue to enter the cavernous opening. Ekarth left at once.
Nothing to see here, folks.
|
|